Another place my meanderings take me to, though not as often as I’d like, is the Dandenong Ranges. Its not exactly a peace filled holiday in this beautiful place as there are grand children to keep up with as well as many old friends to try to catch up with.I was living there when I first came in contact with creative dance
I was already in middle age and had tried many dance styles ranging from ballet to folk before I discovered creative dance. It was then dance became an integral part of my life, echoed it in fact or even created new scenarios that life would imitate.Past middle age now I regret I don’t get to dance much although I was doing a belly dance/salsa class that started to feel more and more ridiculous.
Late last year in one of my old haunts I got to do Soul Dance and I was smitten all over again. I was determined to start my own group back home. The courage to do that faded but at least I started to put on cds and dance at home using that as part of my exercise regime that mainly consisted of walking or even using gym equipment at home.
In April on my grandson’s birthday I was again in the right place at the right time and went along to Soul Dance facilitated by Tony, one time dance therapy colleague, who happened to be wearing a moon boot. A large group of us moved ecstatically to carefully chosen music with sunlight pouring through the window. I discreetly moved to the side and took a couple of photos.
Last time I wanted to go down to the floor and move there in the way I used to do but didn’t quite manage it. This time if I hadn’t I would have been the only one standing. On the floor I moved my upper body in complete freedom and even crawled around. Then I stayed there for shared refreshments.I expressed my pleasure to Tony at having succeeded in going into the floor and he spoke of pathways down and up probably having observed my struggle in this regard.
A few days later we were heading back home. Our friend dropped us off above the ramp that leads down to Belgrave station. She drove off and as we walked the few steps to the ramp my sneaker clad foot caught in a pothole.Down I crashed, twisted around to a sitting position while school girls watched, and an elderly woman with a stick offered assistance. After a few moments I crawled over to the ramp and gingerly pulled myself up using the handrail and husband Frank’s help. The doctor over the road wanted my ankle xrayed immediately but, at my request he bandaged it, equipped me with ice packs and somehow I started the long train trip back to Warrnambool in the suburban train that rocked like a boat.. Much support was received at Travellers’ Aid in Melbourne where I was installed in a private restroom to stretch out on a bed while my ice pack was refrozen. Then we were transported by buggy to the Vline train.The jouney was cramped and painful until Geelong but then I had room to stretch out and elevate my leg. On reaching Warrnambool all I wanted was my own bed so hospital could wait.